


5 Uses For A Parachute You Won’t Find In An Army Field Manual

by heartequals (savvygambols)



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Gen, M/M, Winters POV, that Liebgott/Webster pairing is only one scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:09:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savvygambols/pseuds/heartequals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(but which Major Dick Winters lets slide because it’s good for morale.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Uses For A Parachute You Won’t Find In An Army Field Manual

**Author's Note:**

> Written from a prompt I got for Fic For Victory 2012: _parachutes (are not about falling)_. I suspect my prompter had a rather more serious fic in mind. Thank you to [lj]twelve_pastels for betaing!

  
_5 Uses For A Parachute You Won’t Find In An Army Field Manual_  
(but which Major Dick Winters lets slide because it’s good for morale.)

 

 

0 - Kitty’s Wedding Dress

It starts with Kitty. Most things about Harry Welsh start with Kitty, Dick is learning, but this, this Easy Company quirk, absolutely, irrefutably, starts with Kitty.

“Figure it’ll make a good wedding dress, you know?” says Welsh. “What with the rationing and all.”

Nixon makes a crack about their imminent demise. Dick nods and turns away. Not a bad idea, saving the ‘chute. What with the rationing and all.

 

 

Five Uses For A Parachute That The Men Of Easy Company Come Up With, What With The Rationing And All.

 

 

1 - A Pillow 

They’re tucked up against each other in a foxhole looking, god help him, like little baby cats. With guns tucked close, sure, but kittens all the same. Dick wonders if this is the kind of shell shock they warned him about during training. Sometimes men lose their minds, start seeing things that aren’t there. His men are definitely not cats, and yet--

“Like kittens,” Nixon says, coming up behind him. Dick starts. Nixon snorts and bumps his shoulder against Dick’s. They look down at the sleeping pile of Malarkey/Penkala/Muck. Penkala in the middle, head pillowed on a folded parachute, Malarkey and Muck pillowed on Penkala.

“It’s cute,” says Nixon. “In a government-trained Kraut-killing machines kind of way.”

Dick says, “Huh.” When Penkala shifts in his sleep, Malarkey and Muck shift with him.

“Bloodthirsty kittens,” Nixon adds. “So, what does that make you? Mama cat?”

Dick watches Muck tuck his arms closer to his chest and says, somewhat absently, “Does that make you the father?”

Nixon’s surprised laugh brings him back to the conversation. “Yeah? Dick, is there something you’re trying to tell me?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” says Dick, trying very hard to remain dignified.

Nixon laughs harder and starts to respond, but Malarkey opens his eyes and says, voice slurred with sleep, “Cap’n Winters, what’s wrong? D’y’need us?”

“No,” says Dick, biting back the ‘son’ that rises like laughter in the back of his throat. 

“Then c’n you make Cap’n Nixon shut the hell up?” Malarkey says sleepily. “With all due respect, sirs. But we’re tryn’a sleep while we can.”

“Come on, Nixon,” says Dick. “Let the kids sleep.”

“Thanks, sir,” says Malarkey and his head drops back onto Penkala’s shoulder. He’s asleep before they can get another word in. Dick stifles a laugh and nudges Nixon. They turn and walk away.

“I just think we’re moving our relationship a little fast,” says Nixon, when they’re a good distance away from the trio. “I don’t know if we’re ready for kids, that’s all.”

“Oh for Pete’s sake,” says Dick.

 

 

2 – Shadow Puppets

Nixon’s half-raving when he barges through Dick’s door. Dick’s half-dressed. “You’re gonna want to see this,” Nixon says, waving his hands in the air. “You are really, really going to want to see this.”

It was too much to ask that Dick get to sleep early. He puts his shirt back on and follows Nixon who leads him straight out of town. “Where are we going, Nix?” Dick asks. He’s tired. He was almost going to get seven hours of sleep.

“Just wait,” says Nixon and takes a sharp turn down a dirt road towards a barn. The barn is lit up, light shining through the cracks in the walls. Dick frowns. They’re under blackout restrictions -- the owners of the farm should know this.

There’s a shout of laughter from the barn. It sounds suspiciously like children. Nixon opens up the barn door and gestures for Dick to step through in front of him.

It _is_ children, about a dozen of them spread out in a semi-circle in front of a parachute draped over a low-hanging beam. They shriek with laughter as shadows play out some drama behind the parachute. Dick squints. It’s hard to see through the parachute, but it looks like a couple of his men have set up several flashlights on a crate. Two of them are sitting on the floor behind the parachute, arms raised, fingers bent at strange angles.

“And he huffed, and he puffed, and he blew the house down!” shouts Luz from behind the parachute. A local man standing to them translates with the same gusto and the children squeal as the shape of a wolf blows down a house made of arms.

Dick is speechless.

“Luz comes from a family of ten,” says Nixon. “It comes naturally to him.”

“I should probably put a stop to this,” says Dick half-heartedly.

“Probably,” says Nixon.

Dick looks around. A handful of Easy are set up around the barn, backs to the wall. They all hold guns and all of them look alert and ready for action. A couple of them salute Dick. He salutes back, feeling a little lost.

“At least they’re prepared for an attack,” he says. Nixon snorts.

Randleman walks over. “Sir,” he says. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Where’d all these kids come from?” Dick asks. “And you know there’s a blackout in effect, right?”

“It’s just for a little while. They come from all around the village.”

“Why haven’t they been evacuated?”

“They leave tomorrow. Liebgott found them hiding in one of the abandoned houses. They were pretty scared and Luz thought this would put them at ease.”

The wolf tries unsuccessfully to blow down the brick house. The children cheer when it gives up and howls in defeat.

“This is reckless, even for us,” says Dick.

“Yes sir,” says Randleman. “I’ll stop them.”

Dick hesitates for a moment and then says, “No. Let them finish the story.”

“Really, sir? No one will blame you if--”

“They’re almost done,” he says as the wolf climbs up the side of the brick house, growling. “It won’t make any difference now. If the Germans haven’t spotted us yet, they probably won’t for the rest of the story.”

“Famous last words, Dick,” says Nixon. Dick ignores him.

The kids shriek as the wolf falls through the chimney and into a cauldron. The voice of the wolf sounds a lot like Sobel.

“Do you think they practice on their nights off?” Nixon asks. “I don’t see them making this up on the fly.”

“They are the best of the best,” says Dick. “It’s not impossible.”

They all watch as the wolf boils to death, Luz’s screams of agony matched by the children yelling in delight. They are rapt as the three little pigs eat the wolf. Luz and Muck appear from behind the parachute to bow and the children applaud and shout. 

Randleman walks over and whispers in Luz’s ear. Luz looks disappointed but unsurprised. “That’s all, kiddos,” he says. The translator relays this to the kids and they begin to argue in so many voices that the translator is unable to keep up. One little girl runs up and hugs Luz’s legs. He picks her up.

“Aw,” says Nixon. “You can’t learn that kind of civilian outreach in bootcamp.”

Dick walks over to the translator. “Time for bed,” he says and feels awful when one of the kids hugs his legs too. He puts a hand on the kid’s head and ruffles his hair. “There’s a blackout in effect,” he says. “We don’t want to endanger these kids any more than they already are.”

The translator nods but looks a little sad. He begins to round up the kids. Several of them refuse to leave until they can shake Muck’s hand or hug Luz. Behind them, Perconte tugs the parachute down from the rafter.

When the last kid has been shepherded away by the translator, Dick approaches them. “You’ve done good today,” he says. “That was dangerous but you did good. Don’t do it again.”

“Yes sir,” say Muck and Luz. They look downcast, but utterly unapologetic.

“Don’t let me find out about it again,” he amends. Luz grins. “Yes sir.”

 

 

3 – Bandages

Welsh mentions off-hand that Roe has been looking, in Welsh’s words, “more Roe-ish than usual.” It is proof of how long they’ve been in each other’s company that Dick not only knows exactly what Welsh means by “looking more Roe-ish”, he knows exactly how Roe would be looking, if Roe is looking “more Roe-ish.” Dick decides to go check on Roe; it has been a while since he’d last spoken to Roe and he knows the man has been struggling after Bastogne. They all are.

Roe’s holed up in the basement under the medic’s billet. He sits cross-legged on the dirty floor, rolling bandages by himself. He looks like Welsh said – more Roe-ish in that way only Roe could be: paler and darker at once, quieter in his silence, and angry.

A huge sheet of fabric stretches out in front of him. No, not just fabric – parachute.

“Hey, Roe,” he says, sitting down next to him. Roe startles. “Sir,” he says. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

He’s got a decent-sized pile of bandages next to him and a good deal of parachute left to cut up. Dick frowns. He knew they were short of supplies, but not so much that Roe was having to make his own bandages.

“Where’d you get the parachute?” he asks.

“Babe got it off a man who was leavin’ town. The man was savin’ it for his daughter, but he didn’t want it, not once we came in.”

“Need help?”

“Sure,” says Roe. “Can you cut it up into strips? I got scissors – here.”

They work in silence for some time. Dick tries to think of something to say to Roe that will get him to lighten up a little, to know that he doesn’t have to be alone. He’s still musing over it when Heffron comes clattering down the stairs. “I got another one!” he hollers and stops short at the sight of Dick. “Major Winters, sir. Didn’t know you were down here.”

Dick waves a hand. “Just helping Roe out.”

“Oh.” Heffron looks like he’s trying to stand at attention but doesn’t quite remember how. Dick waves at Heffron again. Heffron relaxes. “Well, look, Gene! I got another one! Webster found it in a POW’s pack.” He opens his arms and part of the parachute cascades out of his arms.

“I’m glad,” says Roe. “We should be good for a couple days with all this.” Dick looks over at him. Roe is smiling. Dick blinks.

“If we can keep it away from Harry,” says Heffron. “He was lookin’ pretty jealous when Speirs let me have it. I ran out of there before he could claim it for Kitty.” He wraps the parachute around his shoulders, hugging it close. He looks like he’s wearing a dress.

“You’ll make a lovely bride,” Dick says. That gets a laugh out of Roe and Heffron grins. “Do I look old enough to get married?” he asks in a passable southern accent. He puts a hand to his forehead. “I’m not even a woman yet. What a thing to say on a girl’s coming-out ceremony!”

“My apologies, ma’am,” Dick says. “You look older than your years. I’m just the right man will come along.”

“Someday my prince will come,” says Heffron. “And the wedding bells will ring and all that.” 

Roe laughs again. “Heffron, you ain’t fit for a church.”

“Excuse me,” says Heffron. He drapes the parachute over his head. “I’m a goddamn nun,” he says primly, holding the folds of the parachute under his chin. It looks remarkably like a wimple. “I was born for the church.”

“Better make up your mind,” Dick tells him, unable to hold back a smile. “A princess must be decisive in matters of the court.”

“I’d rather be a princess than a nun,” says Heffron without pause. “I’d rather rule a country.”

“You’ll make a fine queen,” says Dick.

“Thank you, sir.”

“I ain’t your prince,” says Roe. He’s smiling widely. “But gimme my goddamn parachute.”

“Takin’ the clothes right off my back, what a way to treat your queen,” says Heffron, but he tosses it on the floor all the same. “By the way,” he says, off-hand. “Nixon’s looking for you, sir.”

Dick stands and hands Heffron the scissors. “Here,” he says. “If anyone asks, it’s an order.”

“Yessir. Always glad to help out.”

As he heads up stairs, he hears Heffron sigh. “My beautiful dress,” he says.

“I’ll get you a new one,” says Roe.

Dick shakes his head and closes the basement door behind him.

 

 

4 – Tying People Up

Dick’s not even around to witness this one. Nixon is, however, and the whole situation, as Nix reports it, makes Dick kind of uncomfortable in a “As A Commanding Officer, Am I Responsible For Any And All Possible Outcomes To This Situation?” way. Ultimately, he decides to pretend he didn’t hear the story at all, but there are some things that, unfortunately, cannot be unheard.

“You’re not Dick,” said Nixon, frowning at Liebgott.

“His room’s at the other end of the hall, sir,” said Liebgott. He looked irritated but wasn’t he always? Good ol’ Liebgott. “Sir, can I help you with anything?”

“Nope, just looking for Major Winters,” said Nixon. He looked around and lit up at the sight of the bed. Webster was tied to the headboard by both hands, looking uncomfortable. You had to appreciate that kind of ingenuity, Nixon thought. He’d been too young, drunk, or horny to pick up any life skills in the Boy Scouts beyond learning how to hide alcohol, but he knew his knots. Whatever Liebgott had done was not Boy Scout approved and yet Webster looked like he wasn’t going anywhere for a while. It looked like he was tied up with a sheet too. Nixon chuckled appreciatively. Smart kid, Liebgott. Used whatever resources were available.

“Nice work,” said Nixon. When Liebgott frowned, Nixon waved at Webster lying prone on the bed. “I never learned that one.”

“Sir?”

Nixon waved a hand again and took a sip from the whiskey bottle he was holding. “The knot, Liebgott, the knot.” He took another sip. “How’d you integrate the headboard so well? That must have taken a while.”

“Easy,” said Liebgott, who looked, for the first time Nixon had seen in the entire war, embarrassed. His face was flushed. Other parts of him were flushed too, but Nixon politely tried not to notice those parts. “It’s like, uh, weaving.”

“Weaving,” mused Nixon. He wandered over to the bed to examine Webster’s wrists. “Parachute!” he said, with some surprise. “Huh. Won’t chafe, I guess. How ya feeling, Web?”

“Great,” said Webster, sounding somewhat strangled. But then, didn’t Webster always sound like that? Good ol’ Webster.

“No chafing?” Nixon asked.

“No sir,” Webster confirmed.

“Good, good,” said Nixon. He tugged on the fabric. “It holds?”

“Go on,” said Liebgott. He looked, and sounded, slightly hysterical. “Show him.”

Webster gave a good hard tug on the parachute. The knot held and Webster grimaced. He wasn’t going anywhere soon.

Nixon nodded. “That’s great. That’s really great.” He patted Webster’s hand.

“Sir, if you don’t mind, we, uh—” Webster began.

“Quiet,” said Liebgott and Webster shut up.

Nixon stood up straight and looked around. Why’d he come in here? Oh, right. “Sorry to interrupt, boys. I’ll be going. Liebgott, you’ll have to show me that knot sometime. It really is a nice piece of work.”

Liebgott made a noise not unlike a cat whose tail had just been trod on. Nixon laughed at the expression on Liebgott’s face. “Not like that!” He shook his head. “Just think it might come in handy. You never know when you might have to tie someone to a bed.”

He raised his bottle as a toast to them and their happiness and their future together for the next two hours or so. He drank deeply, cherishing the burn in the back of his throat. “I’ve got to find Dick. Which, so have you, don’t you? Hah! Play safe, boys.” 

He swept out of the room, feeling like the benevolent and very drunk officer that he was. He was too drunk to hear the lock click shut behind him as he wandered back down the hall, but not nearly drunk enough to miss Liebgott’s hoarse “I don’t think I know how to untie you.”

 

 

5 – A Blanket

Dick’s glaring at some paperwork when Nixon walks in. “What the hell are you doing indoors?” Nixon asks, incredulous. “It’s beautiful outside.”

“We may be out of the fighting but the paperwork will never be done,” says Dick. Nixon shakes his head. “Come on, Dick. When are you going to be Austria again? No one’s doing work right now. Let’s get out of here.”

They stop at Nixon’s room to pick up a bottle of wine and walk outside. Some of his men are tossing around a baseball in the street and others are lounging on the steps of one of the houses, skipping loose rocks across the pavement. Dick’s glad to see them so relaxed. They’ve earned a break, every one of them.

Nixon leads them out of town and down towards the riverbank. On the way they pass Powers, who hands them a bundled up parachute as he makes his way back to town. 

“It makes a nice picnic blanket,” he explains. 

Dick’s not even surprised anymore; he just takes the parachute and follows Nixon. They spread the parachute out in a clearing and sit down. Nixon uncorks the bottle of wine and takes a swig. He offers it to Dick. Dick shakes his head and lays down, tucking one hand underneath his head.

“There’s been talk of surrender,” says Nixon. Dick squints up at him. Nixon looks military-serious, even with an open bottle of red wine in hand. His lips already look a little pinker. “I mean real talk of surrender. Any day now.” He drinks again. “I hope to God our intel is correct.”

“I’m sure it is.”

It’s too nice out to consider any other option. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, and the paperwork is already a distant memory. He’s lying on a parachute on the side of a river with his best friend. 

“I’ll be honest, I didn’t think we’d make it this far,” says Nixon. “I thought we’d be dead long before now. I’m still not convinced it won’t all go to hell again.”

“It won’t,” says Dick. He’s starting to feel a bit sleepy. There’s a scratch in the parachute under the back of his right hand, but the rest of the fabric is smooth, if a little worn. Powers is not the only person to have taken it out for a picnic.

Nixon sets the bottle aside and lies down next to him. “You sound confident,” he says, crossing his arms under his head and staring up at the sky.

“It’s over, Lewis,” says Dick, looking over at him. “We made it.”

“Yeah,” says Nixon. “We did, didn’t we?”

Dick smiles and closes his eyes.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] 5 Uses For A Parachute You Won’t Find In An Army Field Manual](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4851413) by [wolveheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolveheart/pseuds/wolveheart)




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